


Gloomy Sunday

by JuliaMG



Series: Lyricfics from 13RW [2]
Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Character Death, Chronic Pain, Depressed Alex, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Guilt, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Monologue, Possible Character Death, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Destruction, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sleep Deprivation, Song Lyrics, Songfic, Stomach Ache, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 08:24:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11596779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaMG/pseuds/JuliaMG
Summary: Alex Standall can't take anymore of life. Everything has built up to the point where nothing seems to matter, and the pain is too much for him to handle. The guilt of Hannah's death is crushing him, and so he takes the one way out he can see; his father's gun.This songfic picks up before Alex's shoots himself. WARNING: Please do not read if you can be triggered by suicidal thoughts, suicide or depression!





	Gloomy Sunday

_Sunday is gloomy_  
_My hours are slumberless_  
_Dearest the shadows_  
_I live with are numberless_

There is no point in living anymore. Alex knows that. He has tried to pull through the angst but there is no end to the pain. The guilt is eating him up from the inside, crushing his heart and soul and tearing him apart, piece by piece. Everything that he used to enjoy means nothing to him now. He can’t find happiness, not even when doing the things he used to love.

Exhausted, he sits down on the bed, staring at nothing in particular. His dad has left for work, and his brother is out of town for the weekend. His mother is working a night shift. He is all alone, and he will be for the next couple of hours. The silence in the house is deafening.

The room looks surprisingly neat without all of his things spread out over the floor and on the furniture, and he frowns, blinking at the reflection of himself in the mirror on the door of the wardrobe. He can't even recognize himself anymore. His eyes are dark and tired, dull. Expressionless. He feels exhausted. He looks exhausted. He looks tired, and he sure as hell are. He can't even remember the last time he had a good night's sleep. The days are blurring together in a long, painful circle of never ending hopelessness and misery.

He wants it all to end, and today is the day. He knows it is.

_Little white flowers_  
_Will never awaken you_  
_Not where the black coach_  
_Of sorrow has taken you_

He has shut off the sound on his phone, but he can still see the screen light up every once in a while. He checked the first message about two hours ago. It was from Zach. He wanted to know what he had told the police, but Alex couldn't even bring himself to answer. If he does, he is afraid of getting stuck in a conversation with his so called "friend", and he can’t deal with that right now, not when he is so close. It is almost over, and he can’t let Zach or anyone else stand in his way. They have no right to take this opportunity away from him. They don’t even care about him. They never did in the first place. He was only a distraction, a puppet, and now he is nothing more than a boy who had to pass on the tapes and knows the truth.

The truth is what’s killing him, and it would’ve been even without the tapes. Alex knows what he has does, and now he needs to suffer the consequences of his actions. He killed Hannah. He killed her, and non of the guilt he feels for doing this can possibly compare to the crushing guilt he carries around over Hannah's death.

The mere thought of her causes a turmoil of emotions to explode in his stomach, and he hunches over slightly, trying to will the painful cramps in his abdomen to go away. Soon it all will be over, he promises himself. Soon. Just a little while longer. Just a few more minutes of life, and then he will be at death’s mercy.

_Angels have no thoughts_  
_Of ever returning you_  
_Would they be angry_  
_If I thought of joining you_

Alex can almost see Hannah in himself now. As he looks at himself in the mirror, crumbled over and an arm tightly hugged around himself, he can easily compare the look in his eyes to the way Hannah had looked all those weeks ago before... before she took her own life. Alex has thought about it for quite some time now. He has tried to get past all of this pain. He has tried to move on from Hannah’s death. He has thought it through, and he knows that this is the only way out. The right way to go. The guilt and the pain... it is all just too much for him to bear. You cannot move on from killing someone. The blood on his hands, he can’t move on from that. He has no right to. He deserves this. He is a terrible person and he deserves this. He deserves to die.

Alex simply can't cope with it all, and the only way he can see out of his misery is to just... end it all.

_Gloomy Sunday_

He feels like crap. He is exhausted and painful stabs of pain hits him in the stomach, no matter how far he doubles over. But somehow, this day is going to be different. He feels different. The numbness doesn't feel as deeply etched into his bones. He almost feels a little bit warm. The chill still makes him shiver slightly, but then again, he almost feels relieved already, and he hasn't even done anything yet. It makes him long for the end even more. In a way, he feels blissfully at peace even now, and he just wants to feel that way all the time. Is that really too much to ask for?

_Gloomy is Sunday_  
_With shadows I spend it all_  
_My heart and I_  
_Have decided to end it all_

He simply doesn't want to live any more. He knows that some people will take it hard, but he also knows that they will find ways to deal with it. Life goes on, and one day he will be forgotten. Some people have already moved on from Hannah's death. Someone has even taken over her locker already, goddamnit, like she is nothing anymore, like she never even existed.

Alex doesn't have a lot of friends. If he is being honest, he doubts that he has any friends at all. He isn't Hannah. Most people at school probably don't even know his name. After this, they will though, and Alex doesn't really know how he feels about that. He doesn't want them to know him as the guy who killed himself, but he figures that he doesn't have much to say in that matter, not when he's dead. If anyone is going to remember him as anything else, it will be Jessica, but she hates him now. She hates him for not telling her the truth, and Alex also hates himself. He hasn't done much for her; not enough. Even when he knew he still spent time with that man, and there is no excuse to make up for what he did. He hid behind his best friend's rapist, and now she hated him, and with all right. He wishes he can tell her how sorry he is. He knows she won’t listen, but he has texted her anyways. "I'm sorry", is all he said, but he knows she will understand. She is a smart girl, despite what everyone else might say, she always has been. He wis sorry for not protecting her. He is sorry for not standing up for her. He is sorry for not trying to tell her the truth he knew she deserved. He is sorry for what happened to Hannah... and that he will have to put her through it again, even though she deserves this one. Even though this one will be for her own good. She must hate him, but he is also pretty sure that she will cry for him. He doesn’t want her to. He wants this. He needs this. This is the only right thing to do.

He is already dying on the inside. He is drowning, and he is brining her down with him. He needs to let go, before he poisons Jess as well as he did Hannah. He killed Hannah. He won’t do the same to Jess. She is much better off without him.

_Soon there'll be candles_  
_And prayers that are said I know_  
_Let them not weep_  
_Let them know that I'm glad to go_

He has thought about what will happen after he has pulled the trigger. It will most likely be his father who will find him. He will be called in for a shooting in their neighborhood, and he will turn up outside the house the moment the paramedics rolls Alex out in a black plastic bag. Alex knows that his father will cry for him as well, but he is nothing but a disappointment to him, and his father will be able to move on. Peter is the child their father always wanted. Sporty, obedient and cheerful. Alex was more into music but he isn’t now, because nothing appeals to him anymore, and he obviously isn’t cheerful. He is tired of putting on a smile whenever he’s around his family, just because that is the only way they will love him; the only way anyone will love him. He is tired of putting up a front, a façade. He’s not that strong anymore. The sadness shows through the cracks, and no one did a thing. So obviously they don’t care. They don’t care about him, and not about the fact that his chair will be empty after this.

Alex also knows that Peter will also be able to move on. He barely even spends any time with his little brother anyways. They aren’t close. He will be crying more on principe than out of actual sorrow. Alex wonders how long it will take for them to get in touch with their mother. She will probably be ignoring their calls, and when she finally answers she will most likely lecture them about calling her when she’s working, only to be met by the reality of Alex shooting himself in the head. Not that she will care all that much either. She has Alex's brother, the perfect son already. Alex is just a waste of space, he knows he is, and he is sure that his mother thinks the same thing, even though she doesn’t say a word.

He also wonders who will come to his funeral. Selfishly, he wishes that Jessica will be there. He almost wants Justin and Clay to show their ugly faces there too, just for the sake of it. Maybe Zach too, he seems like a decent enough guy all things considered. He haven’t given much thought to his funeral, to be fair, since he isn’t going to be there to experience it, but he is pretty sure his parents and his brother will be crying. They all have rough skin, and Alex knows they don’t care about him in the same loving way that a family usually loves their son. He is the back sheep of their family, and despite always wanting to make them proud he always found some way to disappoint them. They will be better off without him. That way he can no longer be a failure to his father, who never cared much for Alex’s interest in music and always wanted him to be more like his jock of a big brother. That way he can no longer be in the way of his mother, who always gave him annoyed and tired looks as he tried to approach her after her long day of working. That way he doesn’t have to look at his brother and see everything that he was not, or live in his shadow anymore.

He knows that they will cry, but he wishes that they won’t. He wishes he could tell them how much he wants this, how much he needs this. He wants to tell them all of that. He wants to explain it to them, and the letter he has left in his guitar doesn’t feel good enough. Nothing feels good enough. He can’t tell them the more concrete reasons of why this is the only way out without telling them about the tapes. He cannot even be completely honest with the things he can tell without having a target on his back, not without looking them in the eyes; and he knows that is a lost cause. They don’t have time for him. They are almost never home. They wouldn’t listen. They wouldn’t care. This is the only way. They will understand, one day.

_Death is no dream_  
_For in death I'm caressin' you_  
_With the last breath of my soul_  
_I'll be blessin' you_

It is dark outside. Shadows creeps into his room through the curtains, and Alex closes his eyes tightly, burying his head in his hands. He doesn't cry. He no longer has any tears to shed. They have all dried away. Soon it will all be over.

_Gloomy Sunday_

He feels cold, and he shivers. The night outside is cold and dark, lonely. Almost as lonely as he feels. He carefully picks up his dad's gun from under the mattress. It will be messy, he knows that. He is not naive enough to think that the blood will not fleck the bed. He has seen what a gun can do. Being the son of a cop sort of does that to you. He has even gotten the chance to use one before. He briefly wonders as he cocks the safety open, if his father is going to regret forcing him to the shooting range screaming and kicking after this.

Alex sure is grateful.

_Dreaming, I was only dreaming_  
_I wake and I find you asleep_  
_In the deep of my heart here_

The metal feels cold and heavy in his hands as he brings the barrel up to rest under his chin. He blinks, tears suddenly in his eyes. He doesn't know why he is crying, but he is. He is just so fucking tired. He wants it all to end. He needs the release.

He can feel his hands shaking, finger itching to pull the trigger. One simple movement, and it will all be over. One press of his finger, and the pain will go away.

_Darling I hope_  
_That my dream never haunted you_

He takes a deep breath, and while steeling himself for what is to come, he presses down on the trigger and everything explodes in white hot pain.

_My heart is tellin' you_  
_How much I wanted you_

Then in the next second... everything just goes black and Alex falls into the land of nothingness.

_Gloomy Sunday_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a comment and let me know what you think! <3


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